


Good Day, Sweet Scholar

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, References to Suicide, addendum to the text of Shakespeare's Hamlet, death of Hamlet, existing after the death of a dear friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much time has passed for Horatio since he closed the eyes of his dearest friend and hoped for him to eternally rest. Now the scholar travels, still drawing his breath in pain to tell Prince Hamlet's story. He finds himself in Scotland on a very special night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Day, Sweet Scholar

**Author's Note:**

> This text takes place thirty years after the death of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. I have fiddled with the time period immensely, so you may notice the anachronistic presence of several characters *cough Shakespeare has a cameo cough*
> 
> My greatest gratitude goes to the Bard himself for writing such a fantastic play; which I have read more than ten times and it STILL continues to amaze me.
> 
> I also thank all of the Shakespeare lovers at my university--you know who you are =D
> 
> The dialogue in this work may catch your eyes strangely. I was experimenting with the use of quotes only in the case of quoting the play Hamlet directly. For the remainder of the dialogue, I utilized these ~ at the beginning and the end of each piece of dialogue. ~

Time has passed, but only the years have faded away from Horatio. The memories he recalls of his dearest friend are as clear and strong as ever, not fresh only because so much time has passed—seemingly endless years have elapsed since their final embrace; since he had closed the prince’s eyes after Hamlet breathed his last. He still ceaselessly draws his breath in pain to tell the story; he even dictated it to a playwright in England. That man had been appalled to learn of cruel King Claudius’ demands upon the English crown for the disposal of his troublesome nephew. Horatio had a hell of a time convincing him to believe it. Once he did, however, a play was written that would so excellently whet even Prince Hamlet’s delight in the theatrical—if t’were well-acted—that Horatio believes he has at last been able to expel and experience enough pain to truly tell Hamlet’s story. He is no longer a man “suffering all that suffers nothing” as his friend had praised so long ago; in that way only he feels that he has let his dear friend down. Because of this fact, his life remains a tragedy.

He travels often now, as a gentle advisor to anyone high or low who will listen to him. Most of the time he does not come seeking to advise, only wishing to comfort those in need of a compassionate listening ear. He accepts peoples’ sorrow because he can understand it well. Only too well. Horatio is in Scotland on this present evening, upon a stone battlement that freezes the backs of his legs whene’er he pauses to lean against the wall. His breath fogs the air as it did on that fateful night/early morning long decades ago. The rivals of his watch tonight are a middle-aged man not many years younger than the Danish scholar, along with a boy of tender years—close to the age that Hamlet had been when he died. Perhaps it is the boy’s presence and the cold misty air that blows and beats around the battlements, but the aging scholar feels as though he cannot catch his breath and finds his heart skipping a beat. Is it too much, too far, too long removed, for him to wish fervently to see his friend and hope that somehow the Prince will appear? Painful heart-wrenching hopes are halted for an instant as the lad speaks.

~It is a dark and quiet night tonight. ~

~Indeed, ~ rumbles the man. MacMurph, MacGregor, Mac-something is his name, recalls Horatio. The boy is called Fleance. ~How do you fare on your guard duty this night, young lord? ~

~Not well, ~ the boy replies quietly. ~I was used to holding such watches as this with my father, but now…~

~It is too deep, the silence, ~ says the man. Macduff! That’s it. ~The darkness is weighted and from the throats of the animals, you can only hear the cries of anguish that your heart wishes it could voice aloud. ~

~Yes. He was all I had, all I admired and wanted to be, ~ whispers Fleance brokenly. ~I never told him that, how much he meant to me. ~

~Ach, rest assured that he knew, lad. I am certain of it. Be comforted by that. ~ Macduff puts a callused hand upon the boy’s thin shoulder, and Fleance’s lower lip begins to tremble as he turns and clutches the older guard in a fierce embrace. Macduff strokes the young man’s hair, his own eyes glistening full of tears that do not fall. He sees Horatio over the younger guardsman’s shoulder and Horatio nods before turning to one side respectfully so as to give Macduff free rein for his grief. After a moment, the gruff guard clears his throat and Horatio turns to spy the other man just behind him. ~I do not mean t’be rude and intrude upon your own sorrowful reverie, ~ Macduff says. ~But I wonder, friend, have ye also lost someone? ~

~Yes, I have, sir. ‘Twas a long time ago~ he fumbles in half-apology as his hands shake and his breath shudders out of his chest. ~I—I know it should not affect me still so strongly. ~ Macduff shakes his head sadly.

~The pain never leaves, does it? ~ Horatio lets out a soft sigh.

~No, and it never lessens neither. I lost him thirty years ago and wade through the agony anew every day. ~

~Who was he? ~ Macduff asks gently. Fleance has come closer to listen. In the young man’s eyes reside curiosity and pain and shattered sadness.

~He was a prince among men; ~ Horatio begins finally, imagining the upward quirk of Hamlet’s lips at the use of that specific phrase. ~A sensitive scholar who cared deeply for every being in the world around him. I oft heard him praise the “piece of work [that] is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god: the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals”. All this, he himself was. He wanted so much to be better, but knew that the darkest parts of this world are the devils of the mind that plague us all… He had a wit as sharp as a rapier and employed it upon all, including himself. ~ Horatio smiles slightly as he remembers some of the words with which the Danish Prince had described himself to other people: “I cannot make you a wholesome answer; my wit’s diseased” and “The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense”, “Call me what instrument you will, though you fret me, you cannot play upon me”. And on and on, so Horatio would have needed three lifetimes to say what Hamlet had in one. Both Scotsmen listen to the scholar’s words respectfully, yet neither can offer any condolence or assurance that flights of angels did indeed sing Hamlet to his eternal rest. Just as nothing was resolved for the loved ones they had lost. Yet the expressions on their faces and firm pressure of their hands clasping around his are worth enough and convey more than mere words could ever say.

 

It is much later on the night’s watch; the sky has lightened from pitch-black to steel-grey, and Fleance has curled up inside a thick indigo cloak of warm cloth that Macduff tenderly tucked around him, as if the boy were his own son. It warms Horatio’s heart to see such an act, even as he feels a pang of yearning to have a wife and child of his own. But he shoves that foolish wish aside. He cannot be selfish; he must continue to tell the story. For Hamlet’s sake. He had promised. Horatio turns away to look out over the cliffs and moors. An unfathomable sight makes him blink. It must be because he is so exhausted and is thinking about Hamlet that he believes he can now see his best friend climbing over and upon the castle’s buttresses to reach him. It cannot be possible, else—God’s bodkin, he is in SCOTLAND, after all!!! He has simply conjured Hamlet in his mind’s eye because of his earlier conversation with the two guardsmen.

~Ah, good Horatio, thou never hadst the fertile imagination that could conjure such a sight. I am really here, ~ the apparition says mildly. ~Close thy mouth, my friend, or the foul Scottish vapours will give thee a chill. ~ He smiles with eyes twinkling merrily above that suit of sables.

~It—it is good to see you, my lord, ~ Horatio at last manages to get out. ~Though I fear the shock of this occurrence may stop my heart. ~ 

~Nonsense, Horatio! ~ The Prince’s words are bracing as he claps his hands upon the living man’s shoulders, making Horatio feel as though a shaft of bright sunlight has passed through him. ~Your heart shall be strong for a while yet. A LONG while. ~ His face grows somber, the mysterious merry twinkle fading and disappearing from his gaze. ~Thou hast borne so much grief for me, BECAUSE of me, my friend. How much it has burdened—how much I have burdened thee. ~ No no, Horatio wants to assert immediately, It is no bother; I am proud to tell your story, my dear friend. But he cannot lie to Hamlet. He could not from the day, at Wittenberg, when they first met.

~I have been burdened, yes. But I chose this path, my prince. ~

~Because I charged thee to, ~ Hamlet’s voice is now bitter. ~ “Absent thee from felicity awhile,” I said. “Draw thy breath in pain to tell my story,” I said. Clear my wounded name! But I am here today to change that; to undo this, to right the wrong that I inflicted upon thirty years of thy life, old friend. I release you from your contract. Thou hast suffered enough. My story has been told to many, and will not be forgotten soon. Now go and live thy life for THEE, Horatio. Exist in the greatest parts of Fortune—secret and open. Get thee a wife, and a daughter, and a son. I now charge you only with living. ~ Horatio is close to tears. The prince speaks with such urgency and earnestness that his form wavers from bright to dim, a rock atop the castle wall shifts, and a stiff gust of wind fiercely and abruptly blows.

~I had not wished to live on without you, my lord. ~ Horatio bows his head. They are out; the words have been said. He now attempts to joke, but in his eyes and voice and mind is a serious question, whether he wills it to seem so or not: ~Is death no longer felicitous? ~ The two men have begun to move together farther along the battlements, closer to the castle’s keep. Hearing this, Hamlet halts and closes his eyes.

~Death is…undiscoverable. I had hoped it would be not so for those of us who are actually dead, but alas. Experiencing death is swimming through darkness, my friend. Only if one WANTS it badly enough can they reach any other spirit or someone in the Living World. Only if one wants to see or be badly enough can they do so. Thou canst have no comprehension of how long it has taken me to wish myself upon this plane in order to speak to thee. Before, I spoke only to the other dead. I saw my parents and Polonius and Ophelia…sweetest Ophelia. ~

~Was her mind—gone—still? ~

~Her mind was never GONE, Horatio, ~ retorts Hamlet sharply. ~It was only bent under the weight of her grief. Grief that I only worsened, I am sorry now to realize and say. I did love her, truly. ~

~You were simply unable to convey your feelings in a healthy way, ~ responds Horatio gently. By now they have reached and entered the keep of the castle. Hamlet the Dane faces the northern cliffs and as he does so his shoulders slump.

~Thou speak’st aright. I am aware of my failings in regards to her plight. I said as much to her spirit—too little too late, I know—but ah, merciful soul! She forgave me. Her generosity of spirit granted me the purpose to come to thee and relieve thine oh-so-heavy burden as Ophelia did for me. ~

~I thank you, my dear lord. ~ Horatio can barely speak for the overwhelming joyous gratitude, awe, and admiration for his prince to work so hard to ensure that he, Horatio, can at last be free from the responsibility of sorrow if not the weight of it; that the only man from whom he ever received a greeting in this world had reached out to him from the next… 

~Horatio, you are trembling. ~ Hamlet in concern comes closer to the living man. ~Has the fact of my appearance managed to shock you at last, whate’er I said to the contrary? Or does the wind perhaps bite too shrewdly? ~ The scholar chuckles for the first time in a long time.

~It IS very cold, my lord. But be easy; I am simply humbled by and grateful for your message; that you would willingly appear—and work so hard to do so—that I may be unburdened. I thank you, sweet prince. ~ A relieved grin stretches across Hamlet’s face.

~Nay, my friend. It is I who must thank YOU. And I do, from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my soul. ~

 

It was then that the cock crew and the prince and the scholar made their final farewell before the ghost drifted off to a place that was neither of Heaven nor of Hell.


End file.
